USUK Songfic Drabbles
by Lozwithasideofcheese
Summary: A selection of (very) small oneshots about USUK and all the things that would occur throughout their relationship. There may be AU's, there may not be AU's. Rating could change. Based on songs that will vary drastically in genre and theme. Enjoy!
1. I Know I'm A Wolf

I know I'm a wolf

Arthur looked down at the younger man on the bed with a somewhat affectionate gaze. Only somewhat affectionate. Arthur wasn't particularly the affectionate type.

Images of the Revolutionary War struck at him when he saw America frown in his sleep. He had been so weakened, felt so incompetent. The big oaf seemed to have forgotten about the war entirely during the daytime when he would hide behind a stupid grin. England knew better. He could tell that America barely slept well. Arthur knew that he had done some terrible things to the colonies back in the days of his grand empire, but he had been good to America. Perhaps too good. In the colonial days, England had been feared as the scourge of the sea with the greatest navy known to mankind.

Now, what was left? Just evidence of his power in textbooks. He had been raised on violence. It had shaped him. He was a hunter. Yet here lay this young country who had become a superpower quicker than any other country had. He had left the days of violence and power behind. With no more thoughts to spare on the past, Arthur climbed into bed behind the American and wrapped his arms around him from behind.

Alfred had come in after the meeting and immediately collapsed from exhaustion after a long time travelling overseas. Arthur smirked at the slight snoring noise made by the larger man. He had snored as a child too. Only then it was adorable in a different way.

Arthur's attraction to the American probably began when he changed and grew about 5 feet in (seemingly) a day. He had developed so well...

"Iggy..." America sighed in his sleep, in a way that would often be seen in teenaged girls swooning over some model 500 miles out of their league.

"America?" England replied, almost expecting a response from the man who was clearly fast asleep.

"Don't hurt me..." What? How could America believe that England would hurt him? He'd never do that.

"I won't hurt you... Idiot. Not anymore." England promised. Alfred would never hear nor remember those words, yet it made Arthur feel better to speak them.


	2. What's My Age Again

What's My Age Again

England's hand absentmindedly rubbed the coarse material of the old and battered sofa beneath him as he indulged himself in an old Charles Dickens novel. Suddenly, his front door slammed open, breaking the serenity of that one perfect moment of isolation. It was enough that Francis wouldn't leave him in peace during World Conferences - stupid Frog - yet he also has to tolerate his overactive boyfriend constantly stopping by.

"Iggy!" The American in question called out from the hallway. Arthur sighed and continued to try and persist his way through one more page. Unfortunately, the page would never be finished as Alfred threw himself onto the sofa and grinned at Arthur in the strangest way.

"Good morning Alfred." Arthur finally replied after staring blankly at the younger nation for what seemed like an eternity.

"What're you reading, Artie?" Alfred continued to demand response. He stared at England, still giving him that all-too suspicous smirk.

"It's called Nicholas Nickleby. Not that I'd expect someone such as yourself to understand the complexeties of great English literary classics." Arthur replied with a strong air of superiority lacing each accented word. Alfred swung an arm over the smaller country's shoulder lazily. England stared at him, awaiting a reason for his boyfriend's sudden appearance on his door step. It took Alfred far longer than it should have done to realise that it was his turn to speak.

"How old am I, Iggy? You never told me, we just celebrated the day you took me in." Alfred asked, slowly closing the distance to make their sitting position more of a cuddle than of two people simply sitting together. England's eyebrows furrowed together (the amount of movement possible in those eyebrows has always been almost incomprehensible) as he started to wonder how old his other half was. He was definitely young when England first found him, but how young was he?

"I can't say I'm particularly sure, Alfred. Why?"

"I was just wondering. That's not why I'm here, though!" Oh good lord the excited voice was back. There was almost a switch in Alfred's brain which dictated whether his voice was excited and hopeful, affectionate and bored or serious and upset. Arthur had only heard the latter once and he never planned to repeat those events again. Ever.

"Then why are you here?"

"Firstly because it's the World Conference tomorrow and I needed somewhere to stay that's closer to Brussels..." Alfred's words made Arthur sigh. Why wouldn't he allow the American to stay overnight? They'd slept together, for crying out loud!

"Yes, you may stay here. What was the other reason for you coming here?"

"To remind you that I love you, duh!" Alfred kissed Arthur on the foreheard before standing up and walking into the kitchen, probably to try and find some salvageable food. Arthur tried to ignore the blush forming along his cheeks and picked up his book once more. America really could act like a child sometimes. A frustrating and somewhat petulant child, but adorably sweet all the same.


	3. Love's A Loaded Gun

_**So it is time for angst galore. I think they might've gone a bit OOC but it's an interesting scenario. This song was by Alice Cooper if you were wondering.**_

Love's A Loaded Gun

Alfred paced across the small kitchen, fervently scratching at his head. Where had Arthur gone? They needed to talk about this. Alfred had confessed. Apparently Francis had too. England hated France, so why had he not chosen Alfred immediately? America just couldn't understand. His phone buzzed energetically in his pocket. Alfred pulled the phone out, trying to open the damned thing with his fingers shakier than a puppy in the cold.

_Matthew: Just saw Arthur at the station for the channel train to France. He seems pissed. Hurry up!_

Thank god for Canada. Alfred felt a shooting pain through his chest when he reread the message to realise that Arthur was going to France. _France_. This was not going to happen. Not today. England and France weren't meant to be together. He was meant to be with England. He had to be.

Alfred had just managed to make it in time to see Arthur's messy hair in the distance. He had his suitcase in hand. America shook his head and started to run. He'd stood aside and allowed England to escape him for long enough. Now he had to act. Otherwise Arthur could leave him once more and Alfred wasn't sure how much leaving he could take. It almost reminded him of the war when England surrendered so easily... He couldn't reminisce on something so negative. Not now. Alfred had tried to hide his feelings. He'd tried to look away. It wasn't going to work anytime soon. Just like that, Arthur ducked out of his field of vision into a taxi. Alfred sprinted towards the car and before it took off, he smacked his hand against the window as a sign for the driver to stop. The desperate look on Alfred's face must have appealed to the driver's kind side as he stopped the car and gave the young nation time to enter his car. The two nations sat side by side.

"What are you doing, Alfred?" Clearly Arthur was no happier with his decision to leave than Alfred was. His hair was messier than usual, there was a saddened look in his eye.

"Arthur... I need to..." America had to catch his breath after running so quickly.

"I tried to kill you once. I failed, but I tried. How could you claim to feel that way towards someone who tried to kill you?" The taxi driver shuffled in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the discussion taking place in his cab.

"For all it hurt when you did that... Loving you hurts worse... Especially when it's unrequited like this. Please, Iggy, give me something." Arthur almost smiled at the childish nickname.

"I raised you... When I found you, you were a child... How could I?"

"There's a reason I didn't want to be your brother anymore. Don't leave it like this. Give me an answer. You drive me insane because I love you and you didn't even recognise it." Arthur shook his head slowly.

"Love isn't a positive ideal." The older nation began, not quite knowing which direction his speech was directed. "It's a weapon." Alfred shifted himself so that both men were facing each other, staring into each other's eyes as though it were the first time they had truly seen each other.

"Pull the trigger."

They moved in towards each other and kissed. That one kiss meant more than anything either of them had experienced before in their combined centuries of existence.


	4. All I Want For Christmas Is You

All I Want For Christmas Is You

Alfred fidgeted in his seat on the plane. He ran a hand through his hair, looking himself over in the mirror once more. A Christmas date. Admittedly it was after the whole gang met up for Christmas dinner and it was just getting the ferry back over to England's place since dinner was at France's. America felt the hand of his brother on his shoulder.

"It'll go fine, Alfred." Canada reassured him, as quietly as he always was. "Francis and I will be there to break any tension."

"Oh please, you two will be too busy with each other. Don't act like I haven't seen your text messages, bro." Alfred replied, a smirk growing on his face. Matthew blushed and removed his hand from his brother's shoulder.

"So what are you hoping to get for Christmas?"

"I don't really care. Do you think Arthur will like his present?"

"What did you get him again?"

"A coffee machine, duh! That's a drink approved by a real hero!" Matthew stared at his brother blankly. "I'm joking, Matty. A box with loads of types of tea in it. For some reason, he loves that stuff. What did you get Francis?"

"I... Um... I sort of got him a ring..." Alfred stared at his brother, confusion taking over his mind. A ring?

"Why would you get him a rin- Oh. Oh!" Matthew hadn't told him about this plan. "Well... Congrats bro! I hope he agrees! You guys are moving on pretty quick. I'm happy for you!"

* * *

><p><em>One plane journey later...<em>

The taxi pulled up outside France's home as the sun set behind the crowded city of Paris. The two Northern American brothers stepped out of the cab and knocked on the door, Alfred's eyes wandered to the figure lit by the Christmas tree with a small whiskey glass in hand. It was Francis. Alfred could tell because of the weird ass coat. America smirked to himself as he watched Matthew patting his jacket pocket. His little brother was all grown up. Matthew knocked on the door, clenching his left hand into a fist to calm the shaking. Alfred focused his grip on the bag of presents in his hand. He had to get Francis something because of Matthew and their half-connection. The Frenchman in question answered the door with his usual cocky finesse sprawled across his facial expression.

"Ah Mattieu!" Francis said Canada's name with his strange accent, making it sound like a different name altogether. The older man leant down and kissed Matthew right on the lips, right in front of a now very uncomfortable America.

"Hey Francis." Alfred waved, trying to make himself as small as possible since he didn't want to interrupt their moment.

"Ah, mon ami!" Francis leant down and kissed America once on each cheek in his traditional greeting, much to Matthew's dismay. "Joyeux Noel!"

"Merry Christmas to you too, Francis." Alfred replied, smiling uncomfortably. Francis grabbed Matthew's hand and lead him inside. Alfred followed slowly, closing the door behind him. The Frenchman lead the two American brothers into the dining room where Arthur was already seated.

"Well you two certainly took your time!" The Englishman exclaimed, clearly trying to be polite in front of Matthew. If it was just Alfred then England would have definitely cursed him out thoroughly by now for being so horrendously late. Alfred seated himself next to Arthur and stretched his arm over the back of the small sofa, not even bothering to respond to the irritated older man's exclamation of disgust at his timekeeping.

"Hey Iggy! Merry Christmas!" Alfred shouted, grinning like a fool at the sight of the man he loved so dearly. Arthur sighed and placed a hand in Alfred's hair, messing it up in the most patronising way he could have done so.

"Merry Christmas to you too, bloody wanker." Arthur replied, a resigned tone to his voice. Bloody idiot. Alfred grinned at the affection.

"The dinner is almost ready, shall we move into the dining room?" Francis invited the three guests into the next room, ready for a dinner full of shenanigans.

* * *

><p><em>Four hours later...<em>

Arthur and Alfred leant back into their seats and Arthur let his eyes slide shut. Alfred turned his head and studied his friend-that-he-wanted-to-be-more-than-that's face. The way his jaw curved in certain places, the way his eyelids flickered slightly even when they were shut, the way his large eyebrows furrowed and then loosened as he relaxed. Alfred stared at Arthur and sighed longingly, wishing he could touch along that perfect jawline, wishing that he could press his own forehead against Arthur's forehead, wishing that he could kiss those lips... The younger nation shook his head and forced himself to look away.

"Did you like the t-shirt, Alfred?" England asked, his eyes still shut.

"Yeah." Alfred replied, not really sounding enthusiastic about it.

"You don't sound like you liked it."

"No, I liked it." America tried to reassure him, but Arthur was having none of it.

"What did you want for Christmas then, America?" Alfred swallowed hard. He knew exactly what he wanted for Christmas. Was he going to tell Arthur? Yeah. Fuck it. He was going to tell Arthur.

"You."


End file.
